Snapshots: Gods, Guns and beerGuts
by livengoo
Summary: After Hunted, the Winchesters spend the afternoon with friends, or at least with people not trying to kill them at the moment.


Snapshots: Gods, Guns and (Beer)Guts Scribbler: livengoo Warnings: Language – not much worse than on the show.  
Pairings: none Summary: After Hunted, the Winchesters kick back and take an afternoon with people who aren't trying to kill them. Today, at least. 

All characters belong to McG, no harm no foul.

Ellen Harvell leaned forward and plunked two chilly, condensation-dewed beers in front of the Winchester boys, swapping them for empties. The boys could drink, that was a sure natural fact. And sometimes they even paid their tab, which approached the point of miraculous in her experience of hunters. They were slumped back, letting it hang out, trying to get back their balance.

Dean had bruises on his face and wrists. Sam seemed to be okay, but there was a sneaking, nervous look in his eyes, and a matching nervous watchfulness in his brother's. Ellen toed off the penny loafer from one foot and scratched at the back of her calf with the toenails of one foot, not bother to hide her scrutiny. Ash, by contrast, was slumped next to them chattering to Sam about some Rat or something and comparing quantities of beer drunk and the inverse quality of said beer. Or that's how he put it. There were times Ellen seriously considered the benefits of shoving her bar rag down that boy's throat and slapping duct tape over the top.

But it was making Dean laugh, and Sam cringe and confess, and that couldn't be a totally bad thing. She sighed and briefly wondered if Jo would have had stories like that if she'd gone to college like she was supposed to. Figured she'd show up one day, likely with scars she could see and scars that only showed in her eyes. Ellen glanced briefly at Dean and then wiped down the counter.

Until Ash grabbed her wrist, and gave her that smile that someone musta lied to him and told him was sincere and charming. Usually it reminded her of a cross between a Texas politician and a kid about to puke up his booze, but that was Ash for you. A man of many faces. "Hey, Ellen, do I get a beer?"

"Depends. Do I get some cash?"

"These fine gentlemen," he gestured grandly at the Winchesters, "Will be providing the proper legal tender for the evening."

"Will they?" She eyed up John's boys. Sam elbowed Dean, who rolled his eyes and finally coughed up a few twenties that curled sadly on the bar until she scooped them up and gave them a new home. Ellen smiled brightly at him as she yanked a beer out of the icebox, popped the top and pushed that long neck beauty down the bar to the mullet king. One thing about Harvell's, glasses lasted longer cause they liked their booze in the bottle.

"Better be worth it," muttered the older brother, shooting a dark look at Ash.

It didn't faze mullet boy. He merely flipped his locks back from his shoulders like a preening beauty queen, extended his arms, shook out his hands like a virtuoso showing off, and delicately plucked up his beer. "I assure you, Dean, a few beers is small tribute to pay a veritable GOD of data such as myself, but I am a merciful and benevolent deity and will accept your paltry offerings." He paused, added, "Unburnt."

Dean snickered. "Yeah, I figure if you had the green yourself, you'd fork over for the burnt offerings and maybe a few of those fucking girly clove rolling papers I think I smelled back by your room."

Ellen wrinkled her nose, summoned a glare and the pretense of shocked innocence. "You been smoking skunk in my place again, jackass? What have I told you?"

Ash cringed, wide-eyed. Ellen and he chorused together, "In Harvell's, it reigns if it pours." Ellen nodded sharply. "Keep yer damn weed out of my place. It stinks worse'n jasmine incense and air fresheners."

"Is that what that was," muttered Sam. "Thought it smelled familiar."

Dean eyed him sideways, then grinned. "That's right; you'd be used to the good stuff out there in Stanford, Sammy. Hard to recognize the cheap shit?"

"Shut up!"

"Bitch."

"Jeeeurk."

The two of them grinned at each other, then settled back. Sam had closed his eyes and rubbed his cool bottle against his forehead as if he had a mild headache. "So. Ash. If we're paying you tribute, are you delivering to your faithful?"

"Damn straight. You may not be able to prove Yahweh, Jehovah, Papa Legba or Gaia but I am here, and the God of Data delivers unto the faithful, bow down and pray!"

Sam opened one eye and rolled it towards Ash. Dean snorted and sucked down a quick gulp of beer. Ellen rested her elbows on the bar and lit up a cigarette, sucking in and blowing the smoke in a double dragon out of her nose. She eyed them. "I'm waiting."

Ash was busily working on that Franken-puter he had. Sam had closed the Ash-eye and opened the other, eyeing her narrowly. Dean had lifted his bottle and pressed it to his own lips, watching her blankly. Ellen smiled slow and sweet. "Go on. Bow down. Pray!"

Oh yes, mama, she'd timed it JUST right. Delivered it just slow enough that Dean had a mouthful of beer going down his throat and Sam had that bottle rolling back and forth. Sam's bottle slipped and slopped down his shirt and Dean's mouthful went right back up and out of his nose in a splutter worth a free beer just for the laugh it gave her.

She ignored the glares they shot at her and pointed at Ash. "You heard him. He's a god. Worship. Or is that what this -" she pulled the crumpled twenties out of her pocket "is about?"

Dean rolled his eyes so hard she was amazed he didn't fall over. "Like hell. Any god I worshipped would be WAYYYY cooler than that."

"James Dean?" Muttered Sam.

"Poof. But his car wasn't bad." rapped Dean.

"I'm cool." Ash flipped his hair again and grinned crazily.

"Yeahhhhhh," drawled Sam, "Like Mr. Peabody."

Ash tucked in his chin and affected a stern, serious look. "Sherman, to the Wayback machine!"

"Oh god." Dean buried his face in one hand, shaking his head. "Parade a' geeks."

Sam ignored him. "I was always more a Fractured Fairytales kind of guy."

Dean shook his head in despair.

"So," Ellen leaned forward and flicked quickly at Dean's Horned God amulet. "Your god is horny. And presumably wears leather and drives a black car?"

Dean curled a lip and shook his head. "Might be a minor deity but I only have one god, babe."

Sam was watching him with interest. "Well?"

Dean ostentatiously reached behind him to pull and hold up a matte black weapon. "The great and glorious Glock."

Ellen shook her head. "That's a spiritual entity? Real comfort in times of hardship there, Dean."

"Hey, don't know it. It answers my prayers, dispatches my enemies, and thunders in a loud voice. Sounds like a god to me." Dean delivered that with the smug, pat look that made her want to smack his face. Or not.

Sam leaned back and frowned. "Seriously, Dean, after all we've seen you have to have thought about it."

Dean shrugged. "After all we've seen I've figured out nobody's got the Truth. Christian rites don't work on Native American spirits. African spirits laugh at Chinese rites. You use Japanese stuff for Japanese spirits and Russian stuff for Russian spirits and I figure you'd use Firestone if you ever had a possum spirit. The only thing that works on all ghosts is salt and the only thing that works on all demons is . . . " He paused. Shrugged again. "I'll get back to you on that."

Sam was frowning thoughtfully down at his beer. "But you must believe in something."

"Why? Nothing's true all the time, Sam. You know that."

"Do I"  
Ellen leaned forward, elbows on the bar. "Well, light's not always light, not the way I understand it."

Ash glanced up at her from his keyboard. "You actually read that article I gave you?"

Ellen scowled at him. Ash grinned. "Beauty AND brains. Ellen, you're a goddess."

She grinned, glanced back at Dean. "There ya go. I'm a goddess."

Dean thought about it. Tilted his bottle. "Okay, maybe I believe in beer too."

Sam was rolling his own beer bottle back and forth between his palms. His voice was soft but it carried. "We know there's life after death."

Dean looked back. "We know something survives after death. There's a difference."

Sam shrugged. "Okay. I'll give you that. But there's got to be more, some kind of metaphysics."

"Why?" Dean was smiling but there was a strange, lost look in his eyes.

Sam opened his mouth then paused. When he spoke it was slowly, as if he were feeling his way through his own thoughts. "Well, we've met demons and that suggests that there's an existence greater than the one we live in."

Ash had paused, hands over his keys. "Not followin' that one, man. I mean, yeah, there's demons, but who's to say they're from hell? If there's an infinite number of universes then maybe they come from one of those? Where the laws of physics are different?"

"What'd be the difference between that and hell?" Sam shot back.

"Hell's a philosophical and theological state that is defined by being damned by a divinity and infinite universes are just other physical realms without a moral aspect," snapped back Ash. Dean blinked at both Ash and Sam. "Ellen. Can I have another beer?"

"With ya on that honey," she said, grabbing two beers and handing him one.  
Sam had sat up with a new look of delighted respect on his face. "If demons come from a hell that's just a different physical realm, then why do they seek our souls or to interact with us?"

"You're asking me? The only person who called me a demon was my last girlfriend. You want to know what they think, you ask them!"

"Nice dodge," smirked Dean.

"It's not a dodge." Ash puffed himself up. "I mean, we just don't know enough. Maybe they use the energy from a human entity or maybe they need a host for access and we're their time shares. Hell, maybe they market our souls as drugs or personal entertainment units - we might be like iTunes for demons, I don't know. But I don't think there's anything about demons that's a proof of metaphysics, is what I mean."

Sam had tilted his head, jaw jutting out stubbornly but eyes thoughtful. "If demons WERE beings from a realm of different physics, Ash, then what would gods be?"

"You're looking at one," Dean tipped his bottleneck to point at Ash. "Haven't you been listening?"

Sam took a half-hearted slap at his brother's head. "Shut up."

"Bitch."

"Yeah, yeah," Ash broke in. "I don't know what gods would be, Sam. I've never met one. How about you?"

Sam smiled sharkishly. Ellen had a sudden image of him with a neat, tidy suit and neat, tidy hair, and powerful, dangerous words. Sam held out a hand and made a little gesture of protection. "There's got to be a God, or gods. If there are no gods, why do the rituals and exorcisms work?"

Dean spoke up for that one. He had that edge of competition in his voice, but didn't sound really happy as he said, "Because they bind the demon. For its own reasons, they bind it. There's nothing to suggest that the power of a god binds it rather than the power of its own rules, Sam. Kind of like lawyers, you know?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "How. So?"

"Wellll . . . " Dean smiled widely. "I'm pretty sure most lawyers could cheat and pull it off. But they don't. Are they just scared they'll get caught or do they have a little spy or, like I figure, do they feel that THEIR word is their bond?"

Sam smirked. It looked odd for a moment, like he was wearing his big brother's clothes. "They'd be disbarred."

Dean blinked. "Is that why you follow the rules?"

Sam frowned. "It's the right thing to do."

"So you follow the rules because they're rules you follow. Right?"

"Yeahhhhh . . ." Sam drew out the word.

"Well. Demons do too. Their rules just suck." Dean shrugged and sipped his beer.

Ash nodded, fringe of mullet bobbing. "What he said, man. I mean, prove to me there's a metaphysical narco squad? I've seen demons, but I have never seen a god."

Ellen picked at a hangnail. "I dunno. When I was in love . . and when I first saw my little girl . . ."

Everyone fell silent, thoughtful looks on their faces. Then Ash shook his head. "Oxytocin. Evolution. I hope there's a god, Ellen, but so far I just don't see that there's proof."

Dean slumped back in his seat. "Fuck. I don't know if I want it proved or not."

Sam eyed him. "What do you mean?"

Dean sighed loudly. "If there's a god, where is he while we get the shit kicked out of us? Whose god is he, anyway? But if there's not then we're on our own. And between a god who doesn't give a shit and no god at all . . . I'm not sure I know which is worse."

Sam opened his mouth, then froze. A small line formed between his brows. And then, slowly, his mouth closed, lips thinned. He glanced back to Dean, then Ellen, then Ash, then down at his own hands. "I don't know, Dean. Maybe you're right, or maybe we just can't see the big picture. I want to believe . . .I mean, I thought I'd felt the grace of God, once . . ."

He'd trailed off and Dean had shifted uncomfortably. The older brother cleared his throat loudly, held up his beer in one hand, and folded his other hand with his index finger out like a child's toy pistol. "Here's to the God of Beer and the Great and Glorious Glock, people. I think we can all agree that those are real and they answer your prayers."

Ellen smiled sadly and took a sip of hers. "Maybe you're right. About the beer, at least."

Ash nodded sharply and tipped his empty bottle on its side. "Yeah. Speaking of which . . ."

Ellen handed him another, briefly meeting Sam's eyes. They still glittered just a bit, until he blinked hard and cleared his throat. "I guess the god thing's one we still need to figure out, huh?"

Dean leaned in, bumped his shoulder quickly and murmured, almost too soft to hear, "If I ever find a god who really answers our prayers, Sam, you'll be the first one I tell." 


End file.
